


Alone with You

by DarthSuki



Series: Daft Punk (EDM) and You [8]
Category: Deadmau5 (Musician), Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Other, Rating will change, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts with a simple, soft little touch. There isn’t any inherent meaning behind it, as far as you can remember besides simply getting your attention, but it all starts with that light brush of his fingertips against the curve of your shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone with You

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a very lovely anon on tumblr and ask.fm who got my ass in gear, because apparently I don't write consistently unless I get a kick in the ass or some internal motivation--consider me a more consistent writer from here on in!
> 
> Also, the title is inspired from [_Alone With You_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmC6kd3I40Q&feature=kp) by, surprise surprise, Deadmau5. However, much of this was also written while listening to gratuitous Owl City (primarily [_West Coast Friendship_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yD8l6Hr_jc) and [_Strawberry Avalanche_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uF3pborhSbw))
> 
> BASICALLY OWL CITY IS RAW FUEL FOR THE FLUFFIEST OF ALL FLUFF. SERIOUSLY LISTEN TO THE MUSIC AND JUST *TRY* TO TELL ME OTHERWISE.

General

Name: y/n  
Eye Color: e/c  
Hair color: h/c  
Hair Length: h/l

Gender

Subject Pronoun (He/She/Ect): s/p  
Object Pronoun (Him/Her/Ect): o/p  
Possessive Pronoun (His/Hers/Theirs/Ect): p/p  
Possessive Adjective (His/Her/Their/Ect): p/a  
Reflexive pronoun (Himself/Herself/Ect): r/p

* * *

It all starts with a simple, soft little touch. There isn’t any inherent meaning behind it, as far as you can remember besides simply getting your attention, but it all starts with that light brush of his fingertips against the curve of your shoulder.

It pulls you out of focus from the roaming crowds around you-- the lady with her small dog poking its head out of a bag and barking at everything that moved, or the young man playing his violin in an open patch of space a ways away (he played beautifully for the record).

It is so easy to get lost in the motion of people and noise and everything else that the touch is as welcome as it is surprising; tickling against your skin, tracing over your shoulder, down your arm. Finally there’s the feeling of warmth, a hand intertwining with your own, and calloused fingers brushing over the back.

"Hello there," a soft voice murmurs as the owners face nuzzles into the back of your h/t, h/c hair.

The owner of that hand and those fingertips aren't too hard to guess, even with the people around you drowning out much of his gentle voice as they bustle about to get somewhere--work, school, errands. You're the one who called him to come pick you up after all, though how he managed to locate you specifically within an ocean of people was a talent he has never seemed apt to share (or notice)--but it certainly has it's defined uses (don't even get started on the last tour).

Maybe it was your brimming smile, your bright e/c eyes searching endlessly for his arrival to pick you up--or perhaps even the fact that you were just before waving the evidence of your shopping excursion around--to garner his attention after he parked the purrari in an open space on the other side of the street.

One way or another (details just that, details) he managed to find you, a lost little m/w standing in the center of chaos, with a face bright with joy and hands full with various colored and shaped bags from your adventure.

You are more than happy when you turn to see him standing just behind you, wearing a smile you doubt few others ever had the opportunity to see in all it's honest glory. It makes you feel special, privileged enough to see so deep into his person than anyone else. The feeling is mutual, probably, but simply can't be the same brand of wonder in your eyes that there is in his when he smiles.

Joel Zimmerman is quite the interesting guy, and not one you'd ever take for granted (if you could even keep up with him long enough to start doing so).

“I thought you said you’d be home an hour ago,” he murmurs beside your face, before half-kissing your cheek.

“I did, and then I got caught up with things,” You reply, a playful tilt to your head as you move your body around to face him. “It’s not my fault that a certain few kitties are too adorable for their own good.”

It is in fact, quite a well-known quandary you often face. While you never have particularly labeled yourself as any sort of specific animal lover, there is quite an undeniable sense of adoration for your boyfriend's two felines.

What a beautiful wonder--both of them even seem to share that exact affection for you-- and too many times have they found a perfect spot to lounge on your lap or beside your thigh, so many times to the dismay of their owner (who would have much rather himself in those spots). Since the same can't be said for many other people, it's been this unspoken but unbroken bond you share with them since you started living with Joel. They show up every now and again for a scratch behind the ear or an extra treat, and they act like little heaters for you at night (though again often at the behest of Joel--one time they took up his entire side of the bed and wouldn't move).

Outside of your thoughts and back in the city sidewalks Joel huffs, unsurprised by the answer but definitely curious about the contents in the bag that you’re holding. One of them at least--you weren’t exactly waving about the other around. It would have been hilarious--and highly embarassing!--to see the reactions around you if you had.

“So tell me, what would be amazing enough to warrant such a long adventure into the city?” Joel asks curiously. "I'm pretty sure you got food a few days ago, and we don't go through it /that/ fast..." He reaches a hand down to one of the bags you were carrying in the hand closest him--the one with a giant black cat silhouette and blocky letters that read ‘CATTASTIC SUPPLIES’. It was a tiny store in comparison to the others almost literally shadowing it, but the store itself had a defined warm atmosphere that probably left you with less money than what was best.

When he pulls out one of the items--a little knitted sweater that bared a striking resemblance to a suit--Joel’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Really?” He asks with a barely contained chuckle. “I mean, I’m not bashing your sense of style for the fat, lazy furball, but you are aware you’re the one who’s gonna have to put this on his ass?” He continues to look at the detail work of the item.

There was a little pocket, detail of the buttons and even a tiny rose image sewn on. The yarn that made it up looks and feels so soft, like something an old grandparent would spend a few weeks knitting for a grandchild. All hand-made in fact, from what the salesperson told you; one of the reasons the store was so tiny. As long as Meowingtons doesn't shred it completely, you already have plans to return to the store for more adorable little things--there was a little knitted doctors lab coat with that cats name on it.

No, literally, they were totally going to sew his name on it on request. You nearly fainted from the perfection of it--maybe even get him some glasses for a cat and--

But that's another days adventure--first, you have to defend today's to your admittedly amused (and slightly confused) boyfriend.

“I just couldn’t pass it up,” Comes the initial defending comment. Your sharp e/c eyes give him a look of complete, playful indignation as you continue on. “I mean just look at it--Professor Meowingtons? That name just screams ‘I need a suit’.”

“More like ‘I’m a fatass cat who gets spoiled all the damn time’.” All arguments playful and not put aside, Joel simply puts it back into the bag, and takes said bag out of your hands to carry himself. “Especially by a certain y/n who doesn’t seem to know the meaning of saying ‘no’ whenever he wants something.”

“Hey,” You start, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Don’t start throwing completely bloated accusations around here that you have absolutely no ground on--”

“I remember someone spending an entire day on twitter commenting on all the cat toys and treats and shit you wanted to get them last Christmas--”

“Absolutely no evidence,” You almost stomp your foot on the ground, just for extra measure, when you jab the finger against the man's chest.

He opens his mouth--surely to add another reminder to the numerous things you definitely did do to spoil his pets--but without a moment to waste (and allow Joel the upper hand in that argument), you push your face towards his and locked your lips together in a kiss.

It's fast and harsh at first from the fact that you did it in the speed needed to shut him up, but it soon melds into something wonderfully soft and gentle. Warmth spreads first through your lips and then up into your cheeks and the tops of your ears just as a hand starts winding around your waist.

Dork, dorky dork. It's all that runs through your mind as Joel actually lifts you off your feet after his opposite arm wraps round your waist and beside the first. The bag he's holding gently bumps into the back of your thighs from the motion, but it's hardly noticeable when suddenly you can't even feel the ground beneath your feet. And your breath is gone--It's just him and you for the briefest freeze in time, bodies close and lips closer still.

Your heart is hammering beautifully when he lowers you the few inches back to the ground, though hell if you would have felt the difference between a few inches and a few miles--that's what your mind feels like, floating in the thick mist of adoration and warmth that he brought you. It's almost impossible not to get drunk off the feeling. Your face pushes into his chest, nuzzling and sighing despite that the people around you are still as chaotic as before, still bustling and loud and all still trying to get to the place they needed to be.

For a brief moment you just...forgot that any of it existed. Only Joel had that talent, to lift you up and leave you absolutely breathless (in a literal as much as amazingly figurative sense).

"Let's get back home," you murmur into his chest. "I think people are starting to stare."

Not that you'd actually know--you are quite content with keeping you and your face a against him.

"Because of the kissing or because I'm Deadmau5?"

"Both."

He laughs all deep and honest that your heart flutters and reaches his free hand down to take your own again. You'd never actually know if anyone really was staring at you both, since he leads you out of the sidewalk and to the purrari and helps get you and your bags into the vehicle in record time.

It’s a few minutes into the drive--the breeze moving through the car from the open windows and the sun glimmering high in the sky--before Joel asks the question you’ve been happily expecting from him.

“So I see you have multiple bags…” He begins, barely sideswiping his eyes at you. “I also notice one of them looks like there’s something special inside.”

“Special?” You play at innocence, pursing your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He probably knows he needs to be more specific--after all, being blunt is probably something he is so good at, he could put it on a resume. But he isn’t, and that in itself is perplexing...teasing, almost. He wants you to be the first to admit the subject--oh, but he should know you far better than that. Two can play at that sort of game.

Joel hums when innocence (fake as it is) is all he gets from the open-ended question. “Maybe I should ask if it’s for you or me.” The car lurches lightly on it’s turn down the next street. “I mean, I’d like to get some sort of idea what’s in store when we get home.”

“What if that was the point,” Your voice lightly points out. With a shrug, you idly turn your head to look at him and smile. “Maybe I wanted it to be a complete surprise.”

“Alright,” he says, an expression of respectful defeat and an obvious fanning of his fingers over the steering wheel. “I’m cool with surprises. But please tell me it’s not gonna be like the last one.”

Oh god. The reminder practically makes your face burst into a silly contortion of muscles, your lungs pushing out the air within in a stupid excuse for laughter. “I promise-” You start with a gentle pat of a hand on his shoulder. “-That it does NOT involve food. I know what happened the last time we tried that.”

A big, chocolaty mess. Granted it was filled with laughter and only a bit of embarrassment, but it took forever to get some of the stains out of your clothes and the carpet and--

Hell you both even had to throw away most of the outfits you had been wearing at the time. So just a big, sticky mess was all that came from it, as well as some really good tips on how to get chocolate and strawberry stains out of various fabrics. “I mean, we learned that anything involving food needs to be given far more forethought.”

He seems pleased with the answer, enough so that he doesn’t say much else until you’re another few streets down. The turn signal flickers lightly through the gentle air of the purrari’s inside, like a satisfying sort of tap, tap, tap, against the dashboard. You lay your head back into the seat and let the lids of your eyes shut. The day was just over half done, but already a sense of productivity and exhaustion washes over your body and limbs.

There is something about riding in a car. Its soft and calming, warm if the sun is own and shining through the windshield. Its just…something that you’ve always found nice, able to lay back in the passenger seat while Joel talks or plays music on the radio, sometimes feeling the soft caress of a hand against your cheek and making you smile for the touch.

That’s how the rest of the drive goes for the two of you in the beautiful chaos of the city. Joel leaves the topic alone--probably in defeat for the wonder that is the surprise you picked out--but turns on the music with a light push of a button.

It drifts through the air, a ginger melody that’s as soft in style as it is low in volume. It’s probably turned down for your sake if anything since Joel’s noticed you relaxing and closing your eyes, and that’s really enough to make you smile.

All through the rest of the car ride, that’s what you do. You smile. You smile and hear the lull of the music on the radio, and the light patting of Joel’s hands on the steering wheel as he hums and taps along to the beat.


End file.
